Unlikely
by Purple Chicken
Summary: A greg/Sara fic. On Hiatus, sorry everyone.
1. Coffee Makes the World Go 'Round!

[A/N Okay… I promised you a serious Fic, and here it is! *Puts hand in air* I solemnly swear I will finish this even if only one person reviews me! It's a CSI Fic, and will probably have a bit of romance in it. Couples:

Sara/Greg (eventually) and possibly others… depending on whether or not I make them important to the story. Rating PG13 for mature themes (come on folks, it's a story that centers around murders and crime scenes, whaddya expect? And some swearing. ]

It was a rainy night. Not the kind of soft pitter-patter that you'd expect from a city like Las Vegas, an all-out attempt to flood the place. 

Sara Sidle sat at her desk, completely oblivious to the fact that outside was somewhat in resemblance to a monsoon. It had been a long day, with a difficult robbery-turned-homicide case that was leading nowhere fast. She flipped through a list of witness statements. Two were alike, but the other four were so different that Sara wondered whether or not they had actually been there, or if the info had been passed around and garbled like a party game with a bizarre twist.

__

'These are completely contradictory to each other! She though as she flipped through two reports. 

__

One says the shooter was standing to the far left of the room and shot the man in front of him, but the reports indicate the vic was shot in the back, running towards the exit. 

If he was standing at the side of the building, how could he have shot him directly in the back---it would be more slanted through him…plus we don't even have the bullet…'

She was interrupted out of her thoughts by a knock at the door. She looked up and saw Grissom standing there. It looked as though he'd been there for a while.

"Uh… yes?" Sara looked up sheepishly. She wasn't supposed to be here, her shift had ended an hour and a half ago.

"Sara, you do realize that you've almost maxed out for overtime this month?" Grissom asked. Sara nodded. He looked at her then continued 

"And that it's only the 12th?" Sara blushed.

"It's just this case, I can't figure out what happened. The main info we have is eye-witness, but they can't agree on what happened, and some things," she picked up the paper she had been reading "don't make sense. One man even said the perp left out the back exit, while the other five say he went back the way he came. We have no other evidence except these reports and a few fingerprints." 

She looked up, and saw that Grissom was frowning slightly. She waited. And waited. Finally he said:

"Try looking for what they all have in common. Look at the more obvious, sometimes answers are easier to find then they seem."

Sara stared. _Not exactly the advice I was hoping for…_ She grunted a reply, then turned back to her work. Grissom left. Sara shuffled through the papers. 

__

What DID they all have in common?

There doesn't seem to be much except… they all had the shooter coming in through the front door, stopping then walking up to the front desk. Where he stopped and put his hand on the desk to lean over.

She remembered they had checked for prints, but only at the second desk… the perp had walked over to the next adjoining desk after the first and a man came out of the back room. He took a look at what was happening and tried to run, but he got shot in the back. The shooter grabbed the cash then fled the scene.

Sara jumped up, realizing that Nick, her partner was long gone, just signed out and went back to the crime scene. She double-checked for prints, and sure enough she was rewarded with a slightly smooshed set. She did one more check, recalling the information in the reports she had read. She left and went back to the office, planning to get the prints checked and then leave for home.

She walked into the lab, and straight away decided she would check the prints and go home after. The place was strangely empty, but then, it was late, and it had been slow lately. Only her case and one other, an angry 

ex-employee had shot his boss in the face and wounded two others. It was practically solved, all that was needed was a little more evidence to make sure he went to jail. 

She input the print data into the computer, and waited for the search to find a match. Lethargically, she wandered over to the coffee machine. She was thirsty, and she started it up. It sputtered, but with a well-placed whack on the side, the red light flickered then became a steady glow and it hummed softly. The computer was still searching through prints to find one the same, so she sat down on the couch in the breakroom to wait for them. Coffee or prints, whichever was done first. Her money was on the prints, the coffee machine was prone to spontaneous-breakdown in the middle of brewing.

She waited, then started to feel more and more tired. She closed her eyes and…

"Hey? Sara, you awake? Saaaaara?" She woke up to find someone leaning over her.

"Wha?!"_ Nice one, Sara, a real ingenious response. _

She looked up, and blinked a few times, 

__

Why is everything so blurr- oh. She brushed the hair that had fallen over her eyes. She looked around. Well, she was in the breakroom… and standing over her was… _Greg? Why is he here? It's late at night. Isn't it? _

"Oh shit!" She sat upright and, knocking Greg out of her way; ran over to the window and threw back the shades. 

"You fell asleep last night, I take it." Greg said with a smirk, fixing his shirt which Sara had shoved against in her attempt to see outside.

"What time is it?? Everyone didn't see me here, did they?"

"No, don't worry, it's early. Just me, you, and the crazy janitor." He grinned. "Kinda romantic, isn't it?" He stood there grinning, and wiggled his eyebrows at her suggestivly.

Sara grimaced. "Greg, the crazy janitor would be more romantic than you… even with his 30 or so cats." 

He snorted with laughter, it was a long-standing joke between everyone. Pierre Rougeau, the senile old man who cleaned office had a strange hobby. His favorite topic to discuss happened to be his many cats. He could stand grinning and talking for hours on end about his 'precious babies'. 

Sara laughed a little, then remembered where she was, she glanced at the wall clock.

"4: 37? Why are you here so early?" he turned to Greg.

"I had some work I had to do on a case… I wanted to get some of it done. Me and the janitor have an understanding, he lets me in, I listen to cat stories." Sara nodded then remembered:

"But there's no work left I thought. All the cases except mine have been solved." 

Greg blushed. "Well, it's kind of and old case… I want to get on Grissom's good side, and if I can find something that might help out an old case, he'd be a lot more likely to-" He stopped. "Well, you get the picture."

Sara got the feeling he didn't want to say anything, so she let it drop. She suspected that Greg was afraid that he would get rejected for his idea. 

__

Whatever he wants to ask, it must have be important to him.

She suddenly remembered her case. She walked out of the breakroom, passing the coffee machine. 

__

Yep. Right again, it busted out on us once more.

The machine sat; its light off and no coffee made. She smiled to herself for a second.

__

Figures. We have to get a new one, all that's left is pop and juice from the machine… which are usually warm and flat.

She walked into the office. Greg followed behind her, curious.

The results had come back, they matched a Dennis Pradine. She frowned.

__

That name sounds familiar, I can't remember from where… and why is Greg still here?

She turned around and faced Greg.

"Yes…?" She raised an eyebrow at him.

"What did the results come back as?" He asked back, completely unflustered by her attempt to get him to leave.

She smiled in spite of herself, even in this ungodly hour of the morning, he managed to be friendly. 

__

Where as I've just been a complete jerk… I need my coffee.

She held up the sheet she had just printed and passed it to him.

"I recognize the name, but I don't know from where." She said.

He studied it for a moment then replied. 

"Try your witness reports, maybe that's where you got it from."

Inwardly she scowled. She should have thought of that. She **really** needed that coffee… She reached up and felt her hair. It has puffed out and knotted together. Her clothes were wrinkled and slept-in, she would go get changed into clothes from her locker. You never know when your clothes would be spattered with blood, so she always had an extra pair.

"I'm going to get changed, these clothes are pretty bad." She paused. "And thanks… you kinda saved me from a big embarrassment, and it would have taken me a while to figure out where to look for the name thing. I owe you." 

__

There, that wasn't soooo bad.

That took a lot, she hated admitting she was wrong. Especially to someone like Greg.

"Any time. And for the owing part…" He grinned rakishly. "You'll pay be back eventually."

She tried to scowl as she walked away, but it turned into a smile in spite of her efforts. His cheerfulness was infectious, she couldn't help herself…

Maybe she would skip that cup of coffee after all.

[A/N- Okay, how did that go? Please, please, lease review! I am, sorry to say, almost exclusively motivated by reviews and emails. The whole 'do it for the sake of getting it done' just isn't my style, so I hope I can get at least one review for the chapter... I'm not expecting much, but hopefully after the third our fourth *rubs hands together* Hehehehe- reveiws!! This is my first, serious fic, I actually plan on making it good enough to read. Well, at least trying to anyway. Well, ta-ta! Remember to walk your goldfish! –Purple Chicken]

_Razberry_moon@hotmail.com_


	2. Clocks

[A/N Howdy folks! Okay, I decided to post both these chappies at the same time, for some reason I can't upload anything onto fanfiction! I'm so sad, I actually did do some work, too. **: P **Alright you read zee disclaimer already, so if you pleeeze care to review, it would make moi tres happy. Well, you know the drill, read, review, and thank you! Oh yeah, I kinda took a little artistic license, I know they are night shift, but it's a smallish change to have them work any time…]

@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~

Sara walked out of the locker room, and stretched her arms. She felt much better since she put on clean clothes. She looked up at the clock, it was 4:59. She walked down the hallway, then stopped outside the chem. lab. Greg was standing, motionless, staring at the wall. She stood for a moment, then walked in.

"Uhh, Greg, what are you doing?" She asked. He didn't turn around, instead he just said:

"Hey, Sara, come here. Quick, stand over here." He gestured at the floor next to him. She stared at him for a second, then walked over.

"Watch." He said. She stared at him, then at the wall, then back at him.

Sensing her confusion, he added 

"The clock Sara, it's about to change, look." He gestured at the clock.

__

Well, that's a little odd… well, this seems important to him, I guess it can't hurt.

She stood there, next to him for around twenty seconds, then the hand moved, and the clock let out a quiet ding, as if it were muted somehow in respect to the early hour. She turned to him, one eyebrow raised in questioning.

He chuckled nervously. 

"It's a bad habit, kind of, something my mom taught me before she left. If you watch the clock just when its about to roll over to another hour, your supposed to use that split-second to make a wish… it's supposed to come true because you in neither hour, so essentially your in two places at once… at least, that what my mom said. I don't know, I always do that… when I was a kid I used to stand by my clock and wish every hour for her to come back. I would get really upset if I couldn't be near a clock when it happened."

He was quiet just looking at her, trying to see what she thought of him baring part of his soul to her. Sara blinked, soaking in the information. Greg had… surprised her. She didn't think there was more to him than rock music and humor, but he sounded sad and wistful. She felt bad for him.

__

I wonder what happened to his mother…

She smiled at him. 

"That's pretty neat, the only family tradition I have is a Christmas tree." She joked. Greg grinned and laughed. 

"My family wasn't really all that big on family traditions…we never really were all that close I guess." Sara finished. Greg nodded sympathetically.

"My mom left me and my dad when I was 10. She ran off with a guy she knew from work, just out of the blue one day I woke up and she was gone. 

After that my dad kinda fell apart. He tried to do the normal things, Easter Bunny, Santa Claus, but he just couldn't, so after awhile we just stopped celebrating holidays as much. We'd give gifts on Christmas, but there wasn't ever that real, holiday feel, no carols or fireplaces, just the holiday, only stripped down to its emotionless state."

She nodded that she understood. She felt bad for Greg. She could sort of relate: though her parents had never gotten divorced, there wasn't a whole lot of love between them either. They sort of lived their own lives, and the only time the rally interacted was when she was there. A machine beeped, and Sara came spiraling back to reality. She was in the lab, standing close to Greg. 

__

Standing very close to Greg… Ack! Shut up brain… I don't want to day dream about any of this romantic stuff between co-workers… I want to solve this case!

****

That's not all you want

The thought came quickly…. She felt like she was turning scitzophrenic. She tried to focus on work, but her stubborn mind had other plans… she mentally promised herself to stop reading romance novels… they were making her crazy.

She backed up, and Greg turned around and went over to the printer. He held up a piece of paper.

"Another case brought home by Yours Truly."

He grinned haughtily. Sara rolled her eyes. Unfazed, he continued:

"A smoking gun… literally. Tobacco residue on the gun, same as was on our guy's fingers. Some bad habits are annoying, others put you in jail."

Sara smirked. 

"Not up to your usual standards, Gregg-o. Smoking can put you in jail, but more likely, it'll kill you… and that's damn worse." He continued smiling.

"Of course, _mother_, I'll remember that." Sara huffed at his remark. She walked over to the exit, slapping him playfully on the shoulder as she left.

"Ow, geez Sara, you trying to put me on medical leave? Don't hit so _hard."_

He pantomimed extreme pain, so she walked back and gave hi a much stronger slap, then waltzed out of the room. Greg watched her leave, then looked at his arm.

"Ow, that girl can hit…" he mumbled to himself as he rubbed his shoulder absently.

Sara walked down the hallway. She glanced up at the clock on the wall. 5:05. Grissom would be here soon, as well as Eckley and the other supervisors. Today was supposed to be her day off, but she would take tomorrow off and treat herself to a four-day weekend. She was already here, after all. And it wasn't like she had anything better to do anyway. She sighed. 

She was great at her job, and was friendly to just about everyone, and to say she had no friends would be a lie, but still she found herself perched on the couch, watching TV or reading during her days off. Catherine had her kid, and she knew Nick and Warrick were good buddies and often went out for drinks. But she didn't really have anything. No connections to people, no real roots despite the fact that she had moved out here over two years ago. 

__

I haven't even finished unpacking everything.

It was true, in the back of her closet, there was a box of things she never unpacked. Mostly stupid things, a potted plant (which she remembered to water, but never put out) was perched on top of the box as much as she could remember. A few photos, some things she had made when she was younger, a box of cards… that was her one strange habit. She saved every card that she ever got. She had birthday cards, graduation cards, Christmas cards. At least 100 of them, all carefully chosen before she had moved. A sad defiance against those who would say there was nothing about her that was personal: that she only had functional, useful things. A stack of old cards is about as useless as you can get.

She turned the hallway and sat down in the breakroom. She remembered her failed attempt at making some coffee, and decided to see if she could get the old pile of junk to spit out a cup or two. She waited.

And waited.

And waited.

__

And as my favorite saying goes: "if at first you don't succeed, try, try again. Then give up. There's no need to be stupid about it." Stupid machine…

Giving it a final whack of farewell, she walked over to the insta-coffee machine and dug around in her pockets to find some change.

__

Oh damn. I need another 50 cents. Why don't you take credit cards!!

She raged silently at the inanimate machine. She didn't carry around much small change, just her credit cards, and a few crumpled 20-dollar bills. She pocketed her $1. 75, and tried one more search through her jeans.

__

Well… either go bck to locker, or go without drink. Trip to locker, or dying of thirst… Hmm. Oh screw it, I need that coffee after all.

She spun around and whacked straight into something hard—Greg.

"Ow… sorry, I was going to get some change." She stated.

"No problem… hey, I have about 10 bucks worth in quarters, just borrow some off of me. How much you need?"

Sara was going to refuse, but she wanted that drink, and she didn't even know if she had change in her locker….

"Fifty cents. Thanks a lot, I don't know whether or not I have any change even in my locker."

Her handed her two quarters, and she popped them into the machine, then pulled out her other money, and added it. She pressed the buttons, and waited for the coffee to pour out the spout.

"I hate our coffee machine. It never works." She tried to make small talk while she waited.

"Yeah, it shorted out on me a while ago. I was standing eating a sandwich, then it makes this weird noise, kind of like a popping, and a few sparks come out from the socket. It freaked me out, it was late, I thought I was dealing with a possessed coffee-machine."

She laughed then saw her cup was full. She grabbed it, thanked Greg again, and walked down the hall to her office. She heard the doors click down the hall, and she knew Grissom must have gotten in. She looked at her desk. It was empty.

__

Where did I put those witness files? Oh. In the drawer…

She dug through her drawer until she found all six reports, then sat down to scan through them.

[A/N All right, I know that was boring, ut I needed to get some stuff laid down as groundwork. So, what did ya think? Loved it? Loathed it? Thnk I am an insane axe murderer who needs to be locked up? Great! Tell me! Cuz you-re opinion counts ***puts on cheesy car-salesman grin*** lol. No, seriously folks, thanks for even reading, and please review!]

~ Razberry_Moon@hotmail.com


	3. Mold, Madonna, And how they're related

[A/N Awww! Hello my faithful readers! All…. *Checks page* four of you! Well, reviews make me happy, and this is better then I've gotten on any other stories! : D Well, I promised I would actually do work, whether or not anyone cared, and keep bugging you all until you do! (Care, that is) Well, I'm sad to say… this plot is going nowhere, fast. I am out of ideas… I need a good story twist… I'm NOT writing a Fic where Cath throws a party and everyone admits their feelings. I really want this to be good, so I'm trying my best. I expect to get about a chapter a week, some weeks I'll do more, some less, it depends on two men Mr. Bal, and Mr. Nebor. Who are they? My crappy teachers for the two courses I take that give homework (and English, but I don't do it anyway) So if I'm late… send THEM the hate mail, not me!]

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

Sara quickly flipped through the witness reports, scanning through paragraphs, flipping through phrases. [a/n okay, that was dumb, but yeah] Something caught her eye. In one witness' account, a name jumped out at her. A Mrs. Rebecca Pradine, wife of Daniel Pradine, the man who's prints she had found on the counter. As she looked through Rebecca's report, she noticed parts that didn't make sense.

__

"I remember it almost perfectly. I walked into the bank. I needed money, I was going shopping, and my husband didn't leave me any. I was waiting in line at the teller's for about… oh, 5 minutes, or so, when I stooped down to tie up my shoe. I heard a woman scream, I looked up, and there was… that man! He was waving a gun around, and the first thing I did was jump down flat, I was terrified of getting shot. It was early in the morning, I like to get to the malls before they get busy, and only a few people were there, and just two tellers. One, I think, was opening an account for another guy, so really there was only one person working…"

There was nothing wrong with this statement, it was a typical, panicked female response, and she told it as it was to her. The problem came up when she mentioned how she ran away.

__

"He had shot the man, and he was running out the door. I saw the coast was clear, so I got up and started running to the back exit as fast as I could, just like anyone would. I mean, if you were faced with a guy holding a gun, would you try to play hero? 

"So yeah, I was running as fast as I could, but another man came up, and I guess he was trying to get out too, but he pushed me a little, and I tripped. It was stupid to have been wearing high-heels, but who could have known? Anyway, I tripped, landed on my arm, and that's where I got this cut. Witness shows a 2-inch gash on upper right forearm. Bruising is evident, witness claims it was just the fall that caused it"

Sara stopped reading. Rebecca had said that she had bent down to tie a shoelace on her runners, thus missing the perp's face. But then she had said she had tripped while running because of her high-heels and cut her arm.

__

In both cases, the shoes are a cause of something major. She didn't see anything, and tripping is a convenient excuse for her cut. Strange too, how no one really saw the man who was robbing them. Yeah, running and ducking might have been more important at the time, but they should have gotten at least one good look!

Sara sighed. Something wasn't right, and it was frustrating her. She needed a break. She glanced at her watch. She had been working for around two hours. She stood up, and stretched her arms out to the sun, willing her limbs to work properly. She grumbled a bit, sleeping on the breakroom couch and then sitting at her desk for hours on end was making her sore. She wandered into the breakroom, and saw everyone seated. She smiled a hello, and they greeted her back.

"Hey Sara! Come sit down." 

Nick shoved Warrick into the side of the couch. Greg, sitting on the other side, moved over a bit farther. Sara sat down gratefully between them. After watching Warrick and Nick fight it out over who got the bigger share of the old brown couch for a minute, she turned and looked at the rest of the team. Catherine was drinking a diet coke, watching the mock-battle going on with an amused smile. Nick finally won, and Warrick relinquished his side of the couch. Nick spread out, taking up as much space as he could.

"Oh sure, rub it in." Warrick said.

"Hey, I earned the right, survival of the fittest, and all that. Right Sara?" He turned to Sara, how had been observing them both with a smile.

"Oh, of course." She said sarcastically.

"You're definitely in excellent condition if you can shove someone off a couch. Why it isn't an Olympic sport, I'll never know. " She grinned, and Catherine, Warrick and Greg all laughed. Warrick paced around, then finally said:

"Come on you guys, shove. There's enough room for more than three people on this couch, it's huge!"

Nick sat up, and Sara shoved over a little close to Greg, who didn't seem to mind at all. Warrick plopped down. Sara was sitting in the only other chair, the other couch and chair were being used by interns, lab techs and others who had been lucky enough to claim a good seat during their break.

!!! A loud bang issued forth from the kitchen, followed by frustrated swearing.

"Gah, you piece of shit!!" 

Sara looked over to see Ralph wiping up a soggy dripping mess. The coffee machine had done it again. Poor Ralph. The new secretary was only into his second day at work, had already been subjected to the coffee-makers vengeful wrath. After cleaning up and stalking off to the pop machine resignedly Sara got up. The others watched her curiously, their conversation momentarily forgotten as they watched their co-worker unplug the machine, empty the jug, then pick up the coffee maker, and try to carry it over.

"Oof! Can one of you guys help me? This things pretty big" She was straining to hold onto the ancient machine. The others just watched, but Greg got up and walked over. He took hold of the machine and Sara pointed in the direction of the breakroom floor.

"Just put it over there please." She said and he placed it down roughly. 

"Thanks Greg." She sat down next to it, got up again and walked down the hallway.

"So... what is she doing?" Warrick turned to Greg. He shrugged.

"It's Sara, she's always doing her own thing. How should I know?"

"Maybe she's finally going to put it out of its misery." Catherine joked. Sara walked back in, carrying a screwdriver and some other tools. She sat down, flipped the machine over, and started to wriggle the bolts free.

Greg watched her.

__

What is she doing? Trying to bash it open? He thought as she gave up trying to unscrew the bolts. It was so old they were practically fused into the machine.

"Okay, Sara. Are you trying to break it? Because you're practically hammering that thing to pieces." Nick finally spoke what the others had been wondering. Sara looked up.

"There's something wrong with the machine, I just want to know what." They stared. 

"So you're going to do it yourself? Do you even know anything about coffee machines?? Because it would be easier to just take it to a repairman." Warrick said. Sara shrugged. 

"I just want to know what's wrong with it..." She fiddled with the bolts again and finally the two popped off. She mumbled something then pried off the faceplate. Everyone leaned over.

"Ewwww! That's disgusting!" Sara scooted farther back from the machine.

"Ughh. No wonder." Greg said and looked at the inside with disgust. The entire thing was a giant mess of dust, coffee grindings, and mold. Alot of mold. Catherine grimaced. 

"I've been drinking out of that thing for years. And I never noticed the smell... I always thought it was just crappy coffee."

Greg chuckled. Nick looked a little sick.

"You and me both. Think we can salvage it?" Greg stared at Nick.

"You think we'd want to if we got the choice? This things probably illegal, its so old and well... Disgusting. Its already half-way to the scrap-heap Nick." He grinned at his own cleverness. Sara giggled in spite of herself. Then the giggles almost turned to gags when she looked back at the coffee-make. 

__

I used to have two or three cups a day... Ughhh. She made a face.

"Who wants to take it out?" People glanced at each other. No one in their right mind would want to touch it, it stunk to high heaven now it was opened. A veritable Pandora's Box, fine at first, but now releasing unspeakable evils. 

Nick stood up and said,

"I vote for Greg to. Me and Sara have a case... and Greg did bring it over." Greg sighed and got up.

"Fine, I'll do the dirty work, but you better watch out, Stokes, I might just save some of thing wonderful mold here to put in your desk." He grinned, sucked in a breath, then made a grab for the machine and started to walk out to the dumpster.

Sara smiled. Greg was a good sport, even if it was her idea… she almost would have said she would take it but… well, it just smelled too bad. She started to laugh then stopped herself. She was walking down a quiet hallway. The coffee incident would make people question over her mental health. Laughing for no reason would not help it much.

She walked back to her office and sat down at her desk. She didn't start work right though. She looked around saw her radio and smiled. She hadn't had time to listen to it for a long time. She flicked the switch and heard the announcer's enthusiastic voice introducing the next song.

"And up next is some Madonna for you, sent out to Nicole from Steph. Send in your requests at 1-800-9597! And remember: what radio station plays only the hits?" A high-pitched female voice came on. "KELL, 98.4 - All the hits! All the time!" she boasted in an obnoxious voice, pretending to be all that youth represents, when in reality she was probably nothing more than a washed up 30-something who lived in a trailer park outside of Colorado with her three kids and alcoholic hubby.

__

Or maybe I'm a little bit of a pessimist... 

She listened to the radio. It was Beautiful Stranger. As Sara listened she thought it was strangely ironic somehow. Something about the song just didn't feel quite right. But she didn't know what. 

__

Oh well, it's a catchy song... for Madonna. Sara, like many people, was rather anti-Madonna.

__

She's just too much of a diva for my taste… but this song isn't too bad. Neither is that other one, the country one… Ack! Oh, great job Sara, you're gonna get this crime solved quickly. Like the Material Girl will help you.

She rolled her eyes at her own laziness. She would probably have to interview that Pradine woman again. She didn't like her.

__

She's just so... materialistic. She glanced at her radio. Just like Madonna. Sara smiled at the thought. No wait, she really IS like her- blond, controversial, worrying over what her "audience" thought, and she seemed like she was just acting out the part of the hysterical woman, now that I think of it. She seemed to want to talk more to Nick, but maybe she's just flirty... A teen drama queen who never grew up.

In high school Sara had disliked those people… The 'in' crowd, the popular set, those who were in school seemingly only for the chance to flirt with the opposite sex. Sara had been more quiet and reserved. She had lived in a small town, everyone there cared about education a lot. Then a sudden move to the city during high school had changed her perspectives on people. She had been pretty shy for her first couple of years, people avoided her, she was known as being the 'scary smart girl' Eventually she was accepted, was invited to parties, had the required blind-dates and breakups to get her through high school socially. 

__

But you learn to watch people when they aren't your friends... It kinda stuck with her, so when she trusted someone, they'd better not let her down.

She stopped daydreaming, and started rooting around her crowded desk for the paper with Mrs. Pradine's phone number. She found it buried under an old autopsy report from about a month ago… she had started cleaning, then just left it there.

She picked up the phone, dialed the number. No one picked up. She pressed down the receiver then redialed, this time more carefully. This time she heard a click.

__

So she thinks she can avoid me by just hanging up, huh. Well, I've got her address. She really didn't like this woman, and now she had to drive out to her apartment… Well, she didn't have to, she could just keep phoning, but today was already seeming very long, the case was hard, and besides, she had nothing better to do.

[A/N Yay! Done! Oh man, I'm sorry for taking so long. That took me about a week to write, just on and off. I had a wedding to go to, two major projects due (in socials and science, it figures...) Well, I'll try to keep working, but it will prolly be writing a b few paragraphs every couple of days till I'm satisfied with it's length. I promise a more Greg filled chapter coming up, but I'm a girl, Its easier to writer girl perspectives…. Tell me what ya thought, thanks!!]

~ razberry_moon@hotmail.com


	4. A Rose In A Dump

{A/n OMG I deleted three pages worth of work and it was really good! I worked for about two hours then accidentally deleted it! I could cry!! Omg noooo! Here it is? again? and it?ll prolly be way worse because I?m so pissed off?. Monday the 21 of April is my birthday too,?. In two days. Huh? what a wonderful prezzie, piece of shit computer!!]  
  
@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@  
  
Greg strained to hold onto the moldy coffee maker. He walked carefully down the hall. It stunk really bad.  
  
Oh, am I ever going to get you for this Nick? Damn you, damn you to ---  
  
He wasn?t able to complete his thought though, he missed a stair and crashed to the ground. Up flew the coffee maker, then landed squarely onto his chest, splitting into two pieces and rubbing it?s smelly contents all over him.  
  
Wonderful? I definitely didn?t see this happening when I woke up today.  
  
He sighed and got up. He picked up the miserable contraption, walked the rest of the stairs and dumped it as fast as he could. He stood there, gazing at the dumpster with it?s battered contents strewn all over. He saluted the machine mock-military.  
  
So long, old buddy, we had some good times, good beans, good blends together.. . I wish we hadn?t, but still, it was a pleasure to know you. And to know what was causing my stomach problems for so long too. Haha, so long, old friend  
  
.He contemplated how to get back to the locker room without being detected and, ineitable, embarrassed. He didn't want to give the secretaries anything else to talk about around the water cooler, they might decide to just stay there and never leave. But.. . what would he do? He didn't want Sara to see-- smell him like this.  
  
Easy, just stay away from anyone with a nose.  
  
He trudged up the stairs and into the hallway. Unfortunately, his brilliant plan failed when he met Catherine there.  
  
"God Greg, did you rub that stuff all over you? Hold still." She grabbed his arm then released him as if he was diseased. She wrinkled her nose at him then began digging through her purse. She pulled a small purple bottle and with a flourish proceeded in spraying it all over his clothes.  
  
"Cath! No, hey! Don?t do-" He protested, but it was too late.  
  
Well, now I smell like a pretty rose? That grew in a garbage disposal during July.  
  
"Cath, now I smell like some kind of weird flower!" She sniffed and commented on how it was impossible for him to smell any worse than he had been then walked off. He huffed and continued walking down the hall hoping that someone up there would decide to be on his side and persuade everyone to just stay away so he could avoid the stares. This just wasn?t his day  
  
Well, at least it can?t get any worse?  
  
But, as predictably as the placement of this time-honored cliché in a story, it did get worse. Much worse. Because what could possibly be better than meeting the girl you adore while you smell like a flower in a refuse pile?  
  
How about having a gun to shoot myself??  
  
  
  
Umm? who are you? Does this mean I?m schizophrenic?  
  
  
  
" Oh, hey Greg! Have you- woah, what did you do?!? And is that Cath?s perfume?" She choked a little and looked at him quizzically.  
  
Say something! You can wisecrack until the sky falls down so do something now and save what face you have left! Come on, Sanders! Use that charm!  
  
"Oh? I tripped and it broke.. . and. Yeah. I smell, don?t I?"  
  
She tried to look sincere.  
  
"Not all that bad.. . but, um Greg?" She returned to her questioning stare.  
  
"Why are you wearing perfume? It smells ridiculous. Like a flower in a dump."  
  
He grinned and slipped back into his more familiar role as a comedian. He took a step back, put on a flashy grin and pretended to slick back his hair.  
  
"Oh that? You noticed? I thought I should go for a statement, you know "Look at me, I'm a rose in a dump!" kinda thing. You should try it Sara, it?ll catch on pretty fast, let me tell you. I?ve already got the spokes- man." She laughed.  
  
"Who would that be?" He smirked at her question.  
  
"Well, me, of course. Where else would you find someone as handsome and talented in a place like this. You people. No fashion taste at all." She looked at him.  
  
"This from the guy with Hawaiian shirts and rubber gloves on his head?" He laughed along with her, then took a deep breath to calm himself down. Big mistake. Sara saw and looked at him and he felt himself turn green.  
  
"If you don?t mind, I need to throw up. See ya, Sara." He managed a slightly sickly grin before he rushed off towards the bathroom. As he pushed open the door he heard her crack up behind him.  
  
Well, at least I made her laugh at what I said? or was she laughing at me? I hope not, but then again.. .  
  
Damn it! I hate not being? I need to act like myself.  
  
The calm, cool, wacky-haired, heavy-metal-loving guy. The reliable lab tech, the flirtatious ladies man. Or at least usually. Not this unsure, nervous guy who?s puking his guts out while he?s worrying about whether or not his co-worker is laughing at him.  
  
He stood up, swaying a bit. He splashed his face with water, ran his fingers through his hair then left. He walked down to the locker-rooms and endured, (with considerable patience, he thought) three smell-related jokes from a group of employees at the water cooler.  
  
Finally he made it to his locker. He dug through his mess until he came up with a shirt that that pretty much clean. It was a rather boring, nondescript black and red one, but at least it was clean.  
  
Or at least the worst thing it smelled of was sweat and bad detergent?  
  
He put it on, stuffed his old shirt into a corner before spraying it heavily with cologne. He looked at his bottle of Axe, shrugged to himself then misted himself with it several times?.  
  
I may smell a bit? strong? but its better than rancid.  
  
He slammed the door closed and started back down the hall. He passed Grissoms office. He hoped he wouldn?t have any special requests of him, Greg really didn?t want to have to explain his rather frighteningly strong odor.  
  
I wonder how long it?ll take old Griss to realize the machines even gone?  
  
He looked inside to see Grissom and Catherine deep into conversation. Catherine was smiling a lot, and Grissom seemed to be gesturing around.  
  
I wonder if there?s something going on between them? They sure like to talk a lot lately?  
  
Haha, I?d be more likely to dance the hula than it would be to see Grissom admitting he has feeling for Catherine besides ?boss to employee? Or at least admitting to himself? But who knows, maybe Cath will get him out of his shell.  
  
Suddenly remembering he wished to not be seen (or smelled) he quickly made a break for his lab.  
  
Safe at last!!  
  
[A/N- we are sorry to interrupt this crappy story, but the author would like to wish herself a Happy 14th Birthday (its April 21, ppl!) and would also like to say she loves Matt. And if he ever found out would spontaneously combust (or help herself along if spontaneity was not an option.) Well, back to mah story!]  
  
He seated himself down into his old desk chair and surveyed his kingdom. It was what he liked to call "organized chaos" but really that would be fooling himself. He was a neat freak, but the worst kind. The kind that only complained about the mess, but had no real plans to actually do anything about it. So he?d sit, annoyed with the clutter, but not wanting to break out the broom and actually get cleaning. It was a system he was comfortable with, he?d just eventually give up and either clean it or get over his fixation on neatness.  
  
He looked up. No one in sight. And he knew the only case really was Nick and Sara?s. The others were stuck on old unsolved: granny who ran over a kid and two dogs who was suspected doing it on purpose but who had died halfway through the case and a child homicide where there was no evidence except the boy?s body. They weren?t really trying they all knew it was hopeless. Both had happened at least 4 years ago.  
  
So he had a choice. Sit here or help Nick and Sara. Well, that was obvious. Now which one to help? Normally he?d pick Sara in an instant, but since he still smelled a little -strongly- he?d rather not encounter her again. Plus Nick was the one doing the body. So he?d have a better chance of finding something to do. He really did want to help, not just stand around.. . plus if he helped out maybe Grissom would see he wasn't always joking off and let him-  
  
No.. . don't get you're hopes up. Just be happy with the job you have. Plus now it?s payback for old Nicky, even if it IS just making him gag. I?ve almost gotten used to the smell myself.  
  
He got up and started to go over to the other rooms where he?d hopefully be, when he ran straight into the other person he?d hoped to avoid. Grissom.  
  
No? I was on such a good streak of luck, no one came by for a while. Now I have to explain why I smell like I took a swim in a cologne pool.  
  
Grissom stopped, looked at Greg then sniffed. He recoiled slightly.  
  
I guess I did get used to my smell? I didn?t think it was that bad?  
  
"Greg, is there a reason you smell like Catherine?s perfume?" He gave Greg his questioning look.  
  
He almost looks angry. Wonder why.  
  
"Oh, that? Long story. I?m on my way to help out Nick, he?s really swamped, so I better get going." Greg started walking and after making it a few feet away he felt a relieved sigh rise to his throat. Thank God he believed him and saved him from reveling the embarrassing truth.  
  
He was just about to turn down the hallway when he heard Grissom?s voice ring out.  
  
"Greg, if you?re looking for Nick. .. I saw him in the breakroom. He finished his stuff already." Greg blushed and turned down the hallway into the breakroom. He saw Nick sprawled out on a couch reading a Times.  
  
"Hey, Nick, how?s the case going? And yes, before you say something, I am aware of the act I smell really bad."  
  
Nick grinned but edged towards the opposite end of the couch anyway.  
  
"That?s good, because if I had to be he one to break the bad news to you, I?d feel pretty bad. You dropped it, huh?"  
  
"Yeah. Then Catherine doused me in that rose perfume she likes so much."  
  
"I can tell. That and Axe. Not the greatest combination. Anyway, you got put on the case?" Nick asked.  
  
"Mm-hmm. I have nothing else to do so I thought I?d help out you and Sara."  
  
"And you?re over here with me because you smell that bad and you don?t want Sara to know?" Greg looked shocked.  
  
Is it THAT obvious?  
  
"She know. I ran into her already.. . how did you-?"  
  
"Know you liked Sara? It?s written all over you?re face, man. Plus you two flirt like crazy whenever you?re together." Nick grinned and Greg turned red.  
  
"Yah.. . I do kind of like her I guess. Nothing serious. So about the case?"  
  
Please change the subject! The case, our boss, I don?t care if you talk to me for an hour about your ex-girlfriend!. Just change the subject!  
  
He started getting uncomfortable.. . whether it was the smell, the intense heat or Nick?s questions, the cause was yet to be determined.. .  
  
probably some of everything though.  
  
"So.. . The case.. .?" Greg prompted after Nick just sat there grinning at him.  
  
"Fine, we?ll change the subject.. . Don?t look at me like that, I wasn?t born yesterday Greg. You two have something going on.. . even if you won?t admit it."  
  
Oh, I?ve admitted it.. . but as for telling her-! Yeah, that would go over well. "Hey Sara, guess what? I love you? Yeah, always have. So.. . Wanna go get a coffee sometime?" I?m sure she would understand.. . Geez, I?m getting so sarcastic. And I?m having a long conversation in my head.. . Yes Greg, you?re turning into a psychopath. Maybe you should - stop talking to yourself!-  
  
[A/N- woah? Bad Christi! BAD! Taking? heh-heh? two months!! to write a short chapter? whoops. I feel bad. Well, trying to be a guy is HARD!! Maybe I should just make him gay.. . ?twould be easier to relate to.. . Waddaya think? ;) just kidding? well, read and review, please! I swear, I?ll write ore faster? I just had EIGHT friggin projects in TWO WEEKS!!! Stupid teachers? well, should be an easier ride for the rest of the year? I Hope. 


	5. Sorry to say, It's on Hiatus

I am soo, sooo, sooooooo sorry, but I have to put this story on Hiatus. One, because I have no plot, I don't know where I want this to go, two, I just finished Harry Potter and the OotP. It put me in an insane Harry Potter craze, especially when that little! @#$% killed off Sirius. 

Also, I really just don't know how to write it anymore. I haven't watched CSI for around 2 months, and I need to get a more accurate feel of how things should go, or I fear I'll kill my story. I still promise to finish it, and I am so thankful for those of you who reviewed and helped me out in my minor word-processing crisis (both of them) 

Also, I realized that when I reviewed myself (because I couldn't upload something) I mentioned getting a 10 dollar bill from my grandparents. I left out a zero, I got a hundred dollars, which I'd never even seen before. I am not a rich maniac who's never seen a ten dollar bill before, I wish was though. 

Anyway, I hope to get back on track, and in the meanwhile, any Fred/Hermione fans or Draco/Hermione fans, I have two stories about them, if you want you could check them out.

Christi, AKA 'Purple Chicken'


End file.
